


Celebration

by skatzaa



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 5k Races, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Brief Discussion of Being Outed, Brief Mentions of Bucky Barnes, Brief Mentions of Clint Barton, DC Pride, Domestic Assholes in Love, Established Relationship, Fanart, Fluff, M/M, Pansexual Sam Wilson, Post-The Winter Soldier, SO MUCH FLUFF, They’re In Love Okay, Twitter, pride month
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-08 09:50:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11079123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/pseuds/skatzaa
Summary: “Sam?” He calls.Sam, from the kitchen where he’s pretending to make them lunch, calls back, “What is it, Steve?”Steve can’t quite tear his gaze from the screen as he scrolls through photo after photo of people of all ages, genders, and races, dressed in every color of the rainbow and smiling brightly, so obviously happy.“Have you ever been to DC’s Pride weekend?”*Sam and Steve run in the DC Pride Run.





	Celebration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ramblingandpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramblingandpie/gifts).



> This is my Cap Reverse Big Bang entry for the wonderful art done by ramblingandpies! It was such a pleasure to work with Lisa and this story tickled me pink when I was writing it, so I hope you all enjoy it too!
> 
> A heartfelt thanks goes out to ivecarvedawoodenheart (YourPalYourBuddy here on ao3) for the great beta job :D any remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> She also pointed out that this is being posted during the first week of Pride month, which is a happy, if unintended, coincidence. Happy Pride to all of my lgbtq+ family out there; may you be safe and happy for all your days, both this month and throughout the rest of your lives.

They’re at home when Steve stumbles across the DC Celebration website.

“Sam?” He calls.

Sam, from the kitchen where he’s pretending to make them lunch, calls back, “What is it, Steve?”

Steve can’t quite tear his gaze from the screen as he scrolls through photo after photo of people of all ages, genders, and races, dressed in every color of the rainbow and smiling brightly, so obviously happy.

“Steve?” Sam says.

He glances back over his shoulder; Sam is wiping his hands on a towel as he steps closer. Steve looks back at the computer screen.

“Have you ever been to DC’s Pride weekend?”

Sam comes around the side of the couch and plops down next to Steve. Steve leans over and lets Sam kiss his cheek. He can’t take his eyes off the photos, all those happy people reveling in their identities.

He wants to be a part of that.

“I’ve gone once or twice to the parade,” Sam says. “Why, you want to go?”

Steve tears his eyes from the computer and looks at his boyfriend, the stupid smirk on his face that’s basically daring Steve to say no. He leans forward and kisses the smirk off of him. When Sam starts to kiss back, Steve pulls away, just to keep Sam on his toes.

“Of course.”

Sam laughs and shakes his head and goes back to the kitchen, where, Steve’s pretty sure, he’s trying to figure out how to order takeout without making it too obvious. Neither of them are much for cooking, but today it’s Sam’s turn to decide on lunch. Steve’s happy to let Sam attempt to keep his pride intact because he can admit he’s sort of an asshole like that.

He closes the computer, pulls out his phone, and takes to Twitter once Sam leaves the room. It’s been four years, but sometimes it’s nice to ask the opinion of people who belong to this century.

 **SRogers** @brooklynrogers  
@therealfalcon and I are headed to #DCPride2015 this year. Any suggestions?  
5:12 PM - April 24, 2015

The response is almost immediate and certainly overwhelming, but Steve doesn’t see it right away, because Sam calls him in for lunch. Steve leaves his phone on the couch and goes to make fun of whatever store-bought salads Sam managed to sneak home this time.

*

It’s a few hours before Steve thinks of the tweet again. He and Sam are sitting in the livingroom, Steve in an armchair pretending to watch the television, Sam reading a book while stretched out on the couch. When he retrieves his phone from where it lay facedown on the coffee table, he has several missed calls, close to twenty text messages, and more Twitter notifications than he knows what to do with.

“Um,” he says.

Sam immediately looks up from his book and says, with absolutely no inflection, “what.”

Steve wants to be offended, but he knows he deserves that. Still, he starts with another “um,” because it drives Sam crazy when he stalls.

“Steve,” Sam says. “What did you do.”

Steve looks out the window, which would be a more convincing stall tactic if it wasn’t night, and therefore too dark to see anything outside.

“I asked Twitter for help with Pride.”

Sam’s expression somehow gets flatter. Steve didn’t know he could even do that, and Steve’s done a lot of dumb shit that’s warranted the Look in the past year. Steve tries his best apologetic face, the one that even gets Nat when she’s off her game, but Sam doesn’t budge.

Steve looks down at his phone and types in the passcode.

Most of the texts are some variation of Stark laughing at him before offering Steve the use of his lawyers, which isn’t particularly reassuring. One, from Natasha, is just the smiley emoticon **:-)**. Clint sent him an actually useful link to all of the events for this year’s DC Celebration, with dates and times, which he probably could have found if he had tried. He thanks Clint, sends Nat a **:P** , and ignores Stark.

Most of the missed calls art from the Avengers’ media representative, Elandi, that Stark hired to help them out. Steve feels a little more guilty about ignoring her too, because he likes her for the most part, but he still does it. He’s not in the mood to be berated for doing something a normal person could do with no problem.

Then he opens the Twitter app.

There are thousands of suggestions from well-meaning people, and there are thousands more hateful comments. It’s like when he and Sam were outed, but somehow more extreme.

He hears Sam place his book on the coffee table and walk over to the chair Steve is sitting in. Steve uncurls enough for Sam to sit in his lap, and he does--he drops down and knocks the air from Steve’s lungs in a slightly exaggerated _oof_. Steve wraps an arm around his back as Sam leans into his chest, and they sift through it all together.

Sam makes a point to scroll past all of the hate, but they take turns replying to people who have helpful ideas. Most seem to think they should either do the 5k, called the Pride Run, or the Drag Ball.

“Maybe the 5k, this year?” Steve asks when it’s Sam’s turn to hold the phone again. Steve notices every time he scrolls extra fast, trying to ignore the bigots of the internet.

Sam hums, and turns to kiss Steve’s temple. Sounding a little distracted, he says, “whatever you want, baby.”

Steve tries not to look too pleased at the pet name, because Sam only calls him baby when he’s not paying attention and Steve _loves_ it.

Sam stops scrolling but doesn’t begin to type like he would if he were replying to someone. It’s quite for a moment. Steve hopes this isn’t Sam feeling awkward about the pet name, but he isn’t tense at all in Steve’s lap. Steve rests his mouth on Sam’s shoulder, not quite a kiss, and waits.

Then, Sam snorts and turns the phone so Steve can see the screen too.

 **Fox News** @foxheadlines  
Captain America Gay? Incriminating new evidence suggests yes!  bt.ly/akd39fad  
8:43 PM - April 24, 2015

Steve groans and turns his face to hide behind Sam’s shoulder. He doesn’t even follow Fox News, because as far as he’s concerned, collectively they’re a giant bag of dicks.

“They outed us,” he says, unabashedly whining. “They literally outed us six months ago and they’re acting like this comes as a shock.”

ddSam shifts until Steve isn’t hiding anymore and snakes his arm over Steve’s shoulders, wrapping his arm around Steve’s neck.

“It’s one thing when you’re a nice, quiet gay who doesn’t remind the world that you aren’t actually straight,” Sam says. “It’s another thing to, in their minds, forcefully remind them that you’re gay by threatening to very publicly run around with all of the other gays.”

Steve frowns. “I’m not even gay.”

Sam laughs and tries to run his fingers through Steve’s hair, but with the position they’re in it ends up more of an awkward pat with his fingertips than anything else.

“But you understand my point, right?” Sam asks. “They pretend they’re fine with it until they see it right in front of them. And then suddenly it’s not okay.”

Steve remembers seeing two young women, just the other day, holding hands and smiling at each other in the mall. How happy they were until they noticed a middle-aged man off to one side, frowning at them. How they stropped each others hands and moved away, body language tense and afraid.

How Steve had wanted to help, but knew there were some harms the shield couldn’t protect from.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I get what you’re saying.”

They sit together like that for a few minutes, comfortable with the quiet. Their only link to the outside world right now is the phone, and the screen went dark while they were talking. Steve’s legs are starting to go numb from Sam’s weight, and he can still somehow feel the bony points of Sam’s ass, but he wouldn’t disrupt this moment for the world.

Eventually, though, Steve can’t help himself, so he says, “we’re gonna do the 5k, right? Because I want to dye my hair into a rainbow.”

Sam laughs and kisses his face. “Whatever you want, baby.”

Steve preens.

*

They still have to make it to June in order to run the 5k, however, and for a while the world seems determined to not let that happen. Between some half-hearted attempts to find Bucky—half-hearted, because at this point Steve has acknowledged that Bucky won’t come in from the cold until he’s ready—and three separate trips to New York to help the Avengers, Steve is glad Sam said he’d take care of registering them.

By the time the morning of the run rolls around, Steve still has some fading bruises from the last mission. He also hasn’t managed to dye his hair into a rainbow, because Elandi—and six of her underlings-slash-interns, the ones who make the really pitiful sad faces that Steve can’t resist—asked him, nicely, to please save the hair dye for next year. He agreed, because he likes Elandi, and also because she implied he would definitely be able to use the hair dye next year.

Also, those interns are really persuasive.

He spends the morning puttering around the house because Sam went in to the VA for one of his group sessions. Steve eats breakfast over the sink, makes a conscious effort to put his bowl in the dishwasher, and then sits out in the backyard for a few hours, enjoying the sun.

He really should get a job, if only to have something to do. The two of them can live comfortably on his army back-pay alone for the foreseeable future, but Sam has his job at the VA and Steve is bored out of his mind, being home all the time. Sam loves his job and Steve would never ask him to give it up, but there’s only so many times a week he can visit the Smithsonian by himself without feeling idiotic.

He misses Nat. She would probably have a suggestion for a job, and it would definitely be better than anything Steve has thought up.

In his defense, it’s hard to think of a civilian organization that would be fine with having a part-time Avenger on their payroll, one who periodically has to call into work to go deal with the latest major crisis.

Maybe he should get a job at the VA. They were pretty understanding when Sam went AWOL to help him take down Hydra.

But that’s where Sam works, and he doesn’t want to make it seem like he’s trying invade every aspect of Sam’s life…

He falls asleep like that, debating the merits of getting a job, and when he wakes up it’s to Sam leaning over him, grinning like an asshole, and a face that’s probably sunburned.

Steve tries to frown, and amends that thought. _Definitely_ sunburned.

Damn.

Sam laughs at him but he also helps rub aloe on Steve’s skin. The burn will be gone by the time the race starts, but that mostly just means he’s going to get about a week’s worth of itchiness in two hours.

Sam kisses the tip of his nose before going to get dressed for the race, leaving Steve to sit on the toilet seat lid, lovestruck and grinning like a fool for it.

He looks in the mirror and laughs at himself, how red and happy he is, and then he stands and follows Sam into the bedroom, where he’s trying to put on the shorts they tie-dyed a few weeks ago when they were both home and relatively unbruised. He nearly tips over but Steve steadies him before he can fall.

Sam’s shorts are yellow and pink and blue and _sinfully_ short. Steve checks out his ass for a minute before grabbing his own shorts, which are purple, blue, and pink. Sam went all out on dying his shorts, so there’s a really elaborate pattern on his, but Steve decided on the classic, easy spiral, mostly because tie-dye became popular only after he went into the ice.

It’s only after he pulls them on that Steve realizes where, exactly, the spiral is centered.

Sam laughs so hard he falls over when he notices, and this time, Steve doesn’t stop him.

*

The sunburn is nearly gone when they get off the Metro at the race venue. They’re a few hours early, because Sam said they’ll need to pick up their registration packets and that there will be some speakers before the race they won’t want to miss. Steve is just happy to walk alongside Sam, hand in hand, taking in the crowd.

There are plenty of serious looking runners, the ones who train regularly and travel for the biggest races, the ones who are already warming up even though the race doesn’t start until seven. There are also plenty of people dressed in silly costumes, or with pride flags as capes, or in almost no clothes at all. And there are some in regular clothes, either runners who didn’t want to go all out or spectators looking to enjoy the race.

Steve drags Sam to a stop when he sees a man in nothing but a Captain America mask and blue boxer briefs with the shield painted on the front. Sam nudges him and says, with a smile, “Wwhy don’t you go say hi?”

Steve lets go of Sam’s hand a little reluctantly. Will this guy even want Steve to approach him? That’s gotta be weird, right? Having Captain America walk up to you when you’re only in your underwear?

He’s just about to turn around and go right back to Sam when the guy spots him. His eyes go really wide and then he beams, like Christmas came early or something.

Steve forgot what it was like for Captain America to be synonymous with hope.

He steps forward, hand outstretched.

“I’m Steve,” he says, smiling.

The guy lets out a disbelieving laugh and says, “I’m Tom. It’s nice to meet you man!”

Steve says hi to the rest of Tom’s group, which consists of a beautiful woman named Lakendra, her bubbly fiancée Annie, and a young person who asks to be called Casey.

“Do you mind if we get a picture together?” Tom asks. Steve clasps his shoulder and waits for him to pass his phone to Annie.

“Say cheese!”

They smile, and when Annie hands the phone back Tom looks so happy in the photo that Steve immediately agrees to his request to post it on Twitter.

“Tag me in it?” He asks. Tom looks like he’s about to hyperventilate, but he manages a nod. Steve pulls out his phone, and when the notification comes through, he retweets the photo and follows Tom’s account.

Then Casey catches sight of Sam and practically drags him over so the two can take a photo together. Lakendra kisses Annie on the cheek as she’s taking it, jostling her enough that the photo has to be taken again, but none of them mind.

It’s wonderful, and by the time they go their separate ways, he almost doesn’t care about the fact that he’s walking through a crowd of a few thousand people with a tie-dyed spiral over his crotch.

They find the line for the registration tent and Sam links their hands again. They keep getting bumped into by virtue of the sheer number of people around them, all of whom are so happy and vibrant and alive.

Steve is so glad that he didn’t go down with that helicarrier, that he came out of the ice, that he can be here and witness it all and feel like he belongs.

It’s a relatively long line, so Steve suggests a game, and they pass the time pointing out their favorite outfits.

“Oh my god, they’re wearing heels. A 5k in three-inch heels? Talk about a superhero.”

“Look over there! The group in the full body spandex, the one that makes up the rainbow.”

“That one has your wings painted on the back of their shirt.”

And on and on it goes, until they reach the front of the line and Sam says, “Wilson, two.”

Steve flushes at the thought of being a Wilson. It’s a nice feeling, one he wouldn’t mind feeling a little more often.

They get their packets and move off to one side to open them. They each have a bib, three safety pins, a Race Program that includes a map of the course, the chip they’ll use for timing purposes, and a t-shirt.

Steve studies the map while Sam changes his shirt. It’s mostly a straight line, besides the beginning and the end, which is nice. He puts the map away to help Sam pin his bib on. The late afternoon sun makes Sam’s dark skin look lovely, and Steve thinks about how they first met.

“Did I ever tell you how the morning we met, I must have circled the Jefferson Memorial six times hoping I would see you again?”

Sam snorts. “Did you really?” Steve shrugs. “You’re such a dork.”

Steve focuses even more on the bib, though he sort of wants to stick Sam with the safety pin he’s currently fighting.

“Steve,” Sam says. Steve looks up. Sam smiles at him. It isn’t the sharp smile he tested Nat with when they first met, nor the cocky one he gives Steve when he knows he’s going to win at whatever their latest competition is. It’s soft, and makes Steve feel a little gooey inside. “I love you, you know? Even when you’re embarrassing and dorky.”

Steve rolls his eyes and pricks Sam, just a bit, with the pin. Sam yelps, but he still lets Steve kiss him on the cheek after.

He’s reaching for his own Pride Run shirt when Sam says, “that was a cute story, babe. I almost feel bad for what’s about to happen.”

Steve shoots him a suspicious glance and takes the shirt from his manilla folder. When no one immediately jumps from the crowd to mock him with the newfound knowledge of his dorkiness, he pulls off his shirt and tries to pull on the new one in quick succession, only to get it stuck on his shoulders because of how tight it is. It’s way too tight, really, more so than can be blamed on differences in brand sizing.

He glares at Sam over the hem of the shirt, who’s leaning on his knees and wheezing in his nice, normal sized shirt.

What a jackass.

Steve is so stuck he has to wait for Sam to calm down enough to help him pull the shirt down the rest of the way. A few people nearby giggle at them, but no one makes a big scene. No one offers to help either, but that’s alright.

When Sam has pulled down the shirt as far as it will go, it barely reaches the hemline of his shorts. Steve looks down and frowns, because he’s pretty sure this shirt is about to tear at the seams.

Steve frowns at Sam, who has the gall to look mostly innocent, aside from the few giggles he can’t quite control, when he says, “I thought you liked your shirts small?”

Steve scowls and looks away, but still wraps his arm around Sam, because Sam’s laughter is one of his favorite things in the world, and he’s going to enjoy every second of it, even when it’s directed at him.

 

*

It’s still another hour or so until the race begins, so they wander for a while. When Sam told him the race was held at the Congressional Cemetery, Steve had hesitated, but being here, he doesn’t feel out of place. He’ll admit that it’s weird to see the graves of people he could have known, had circumstances been a little different. But as they walk they find a small cluster of tombstones that proclaim the men buried there to be gay. One was a soldier in World War II, another a Vietnam veteran with an unmarked tombstone.

Sam googles Leonard Matlovich for Steve’s benefit, and as they huddle close over Sam’s phone, Steve takes Sam’s free hand in his, because they can do that. Because people like Leonard Matlovich fought for them, and because Steve is here, now, with Sam, and is allowed to do this. He still cries, a little, over the injustice of it all and the fact that _he missed this_ , and so many other desperately important moments. But they’re here now, and all they can do is remember, and take what was accomplished by those who came before them and build on it.

After, when they’ve taken a deep breath and wandered back to the main cluster of people, they grab a patch of grass and spend the time people-watching, Steve’s head in Sam’s lap and Sam’s hand in Steve’s hair. It’s starting to cool off some as it gets later, but Steve isn’t worried, because they’re about to run a few miles and after, there’s supposed to be a huge party. They haven’t decided if they’re staying for the party yet, but either way Steve is going to call today a success.

At six thirty, the music cuts out, and the race organizer, a tall, graceful woman Steve saw bustling all over the place earlier, steps up to the microphone set up on the temporary stage. Steve sits up so he can see her better, thankful that most of the people around them are sitting too—the ones warming up early are off to the side, jogging up and down a stretch of road.

“If I could have your attention please,” the woman says. The crowd goes quiet, mostly. “My name is Avery, and it is my privilege to welcome you to the third annual DC FrontRunners Pride Run!”

The crowd cheers, an elated mass of color and sound.

“To get us started, we have a representative from one of our presenting sponsors, Stark Industries!”

Confused by enthusiastic applause breaks out. Steve groans and Sam tries to muffle a snort behind his fist.

Then Tony Stark himself steps onto the stage, and the applause grows louder. Steve groans more emphatically and drops his head into his hands.

Stark is in a three-piece suit that would be sharp if it weren’t the most garish assortment of colors Steve has ever seen.

He doesn’t even listen to the speech. Instead, he keeps his face covered and listens to Sam crack up beside him.

“You know this is his way of being supportive,” Sam says, once he’s calmed down some, and the worst thing is that Steve knows he’s right; Stark throws his money at things he knows people care about. It’s a bit misguided, but Steve does his best to appreciate the gesture.

A minute or so later, Sam elbows him and points. When Steve looks up he sees, standing in the generic bodyguard position at the base of the stage, a slight woman in all black, except for purple sunglasses. Her hair is a vibrant red.

Nat. Of course.

  


Somehow, she must see Steve looking, even across the crowd, because she quirks the corner of her mouth up, the way she always did before things went to shit on a mission. Steve gives a tiny salute and Nat turns her face away, like she’s trying not to laugh.

Stark raises his arms into the Rocky position and the crowd around them cheers. Steve shakes his head and stands, and then offers Sam and hand up.

“Wanna go stretch for a bit?” he asks.

Sam quirks an eyebrow. “ _You_ want to stretch.”

“Well,” Steve says. “I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself trying to keep up.”

Sam scoffs, but Steve doesn’t miss the fact that he takes the time to really stretch everything out once they find an open space. Steve sort of swings his arms back and forth and does his best to loosen his quads, but he’s not particularly worried about a 5k.

He’s Captain America, okay? He’s allowed to be a little cocky.

There are a few more speakers before they get the signal to line up. Steve has never run a 5k before, and Sam’s last one was before he was deployed, long enough ago that he can’t remember his time or find it online anywhere, so they’re part of Wave 3. It means they’re with the walkers and the slowest of the runners and the people who don’t have a time because this is their first 5k. Steve doesn’t mind. He looks at Sam from the corner of his eye. From the serious set of his face, Steve figures they won’t be taking this one easy.

Perfect.

As their wave gathers at the start line, they clip their chip timers to their bibs. They’re somewhere in the middle of the group, but he figures they can get out of the crowd easily enough once they start. Steve elbows Sam and Sam gives him a shove back. They’re still pushing each other when the gun goes off, and it’s only through conscious thought that Steve doesn’t reach for his shield.

Instead, they run.

Sam isn’t messing around today; his pace may not be able to match Steve’s when Steve really gets going, but this isn’t the casual jog he prefers for their morning runs.

Sam runs, and Steve keeps pace with him the whole way.

They turn the corner by the chapel before anyone else, and then it’s a stretch of road with spectators on both sides, cheering them on. Steve settles into a rhythm, breathes in for three steps, out for two, in-two-three, out-two, in-two-three…

Beside him, Sam’s breaths are shorter and sharper, but just as controlled.

They reach the second corner, and it’s a sharp turn onto the dirt trail, nearly a three-sixty, but they make it easily. Steve makes sure to match his stride to Sam’s, and then just… runs. He breathes, and runs, in a way he will never, ever take for granted.

It’s a beautiful day, and Sam’s pace is good, so it’s not long before they start to pass the stragglers from the second wave.

Two of the runners they pass are Lakendra and Annie, and when they go by them Lakendra whistles. Annie yells, “go Captain!”

People in front of them startle and look over their shoulders. When they see Steve their eyes all go wide. Steve smiles, but he doesn’t disrupt his rhythm to say something.

Sam falls in line with Casey a minute or two later, and the three of them run together for close to half a mile, Casey on the left and Steve on the right with Sam in the middle, before Sam puts on a burst of speed and they pull ahead.

Casey yells, “go Falcon!”

Sam laughs and loses his stride for a moment, but Steve stays steady beside him, and he’s back in step before people stop gawking at them.

They run and they run, the only sounds between them the dull thuds of their feet on the packed dirt and their timed breathing, just out of sync.

They’re making good time, but they still started three minutes behind the first wave, so they spend the next mile passing people steadily, and then they hit the point where the front runners are on their way back to the finish line.

The leader catches sight of Steve and nearly stumbles. Someone else yells, “holy shit, that’s Captain America!”

From the corner of his eye, Steve sees Sam’s sly smile.

After that, it seems everyone twists over their shoulders to look at them once or twice. They hit the turnaround point, where there are more spectators gathered, waiting to cheer on the runners, and it’s great. The crowd waves rainbow flags and yells encouragements, and then the two of them turn, and head back the way they came.

Steve is now on Sam’s left, and he laughs out loud at the realization. Sam glances at him and frowns and says, “don’t you say—”

“On your left,” he says, and speeds up just a bit.

Sam groans but picks up the pace. Steve knows he shouldn’t be egging him on like this, not when they still have over a mile left in the race, but he can’t help that it’s just too easy sometimes.

But it’s a beautiful day, and Sam has no trouble keeping the pace Steve has set. They run and they breathe and Steve can’t keep from smiling.

Most of the runners are behind them now, which means they pass them head on this time as they run by, and the ones that notice who they are smile and wave and cheer, if they have the breath for it. Steve waves back, and he can see Sam giving people his best grin as they go.

For a minute or so there’s no one on the road in front of them, and then they come upon the walkers, who have the luxury of talking as they go. An older group of women, who are still younger than Steve should be, are decked out in pride gear, their bibs pinned high enough to be plainly visible. They wave as Steve and Sam pass. One of them wolf whistles.

Sam laughs again and breaks his stride trying to get his breath back.

When Sam’s almost back to rhythm, but not quite, because Steve likes to be an asshole sometimes, Steve says again, “on your left.”

And he speeds up, just a hair.

Sam grunts under his breath but he keeps up. Steve hasn’t been timing them so he’s not sure what their mile splits are, but he’s fairly certain this isn’t Sam’s limit. Even still, he eases up a little, but when Sam doesn’t let off, Steve falls into step with him again.

They reach the turnoff point, where race organizers stand to direct runners to the finish line. They veer off the trail when they’re told to, and then it’s another right onto one of the roads in the cemetery. People line either side and they cheer as Sam and Steve pass.

There’s one final turn, and then Steve can see the finish line

He says, “On your—”

“Fuck you, man,” Sam says, and he takes off.

Steve laughs and misses a step before following. It’s a race, as much as it can be when they both know Steve is still holding back.

The crowd cheers, excited to have a competition. Sam laughs. The plastic pride flags lining the homestretch flap in the slight breeze. The sun is starting to set through the trees.

Sam crosses the finish line first.

Steve is a split second behind him, and they slow to a stop together. They’re laughing, and Steve feels so light, like he could float away on the breeze if Sam smiles at him one more time, and he grabs Sam by the waist and pulls him in for a kiss.

They’re in the middle of the other runners who have finished but Steve doesn’t care. Someone whistles and Sam smiles against his mouth. Steve smiles back.

*

They don’t cross the finish line first, or even twentieth. But they still leave the race with hastily made ribbons, because Sam broke the race record, with a run of 15:45, beating the previous best by two seconds.

Steve beat it by one-point-nine.

Finish line kisses are all well and good while the adrenaline is still pumping, but once the high has worn off, it’s clear Sam is crashing. They assure Avery, the event coordinator, that the trophy should absolutely go to the person who crossed the finish line first, because they had somewhat of an unfair advantage, even if Steve was holding back. Not everyone has access to regular superhero fitness training.

They say goodbye to her and slip out the way they came, heading toward the Metro station that will take them home.

Sam leans against Steve as they walk and Steve wraps his arm around him. They stretched some as part of their cool down, but Steve has a feeling Sam will be a little sore tomorrow.

The ride home is quiet. This station will be overrun later tonight by participants and spectators on their way home, but for now, it’s just the two of them in their car. Steve almost misses their stop because he’s trying his best to get an unflattering photo of Sam without dislodging Sam from his side, but they get off the Metro at the right time and walk the rest of the way home.

Steve unlocks the door and turns on a light so he can see as he leads Sam to the living room, since it would be a shame to accidentally dump him on the floor when he was aiming for the couch. Sam groans in protest but kisses the hand Steve lays on his cheek for a moment. Then he kisses Steve’s wrist, and Steve snorts, because he knows where this is going, but Sam isn’t in any shape for that tonight. He leaves Sam there on the couch, groaning some more, to go grab them a glass of wine each, and on his way back he makes sure to grab his phone from its spot by the house keys.

It’s only a little after eight, but as Steve hands a glass to Sam and moves Sam’s feet so he can sit on the couch with him, he realizes that he’s actually a little tired. It’s nothing like what Sam is feeling, and it’s nothing close to true exhaustion, but it was a satisfying experience nonetheless. They probably shouldn’t be having wine right now after running the race, or at least Sam shouldn’t, but that’s an argument for another day.

For a few minutes they sit like that, Sam’s feet in Steve’s lap and the both of them drinking their wine. Steve uses his free hand to massage Sam’s feet and ankles until Sam is little more than a puddle of goo beside him and his wine is almost gone.

Steve picks up his phone then, despite Sam’s halfhearted protests as he leaves off the massage. He has a few text messages from Nat, most of which are links to Twitter posts. The final one is simply **:(**. Steve sighs and sets his wineglass down.

The photographer at the race must have set up an automatic online dropbox for the pictures he took, because several pictures from the race have already gone viral: the one of him and Tom that Steve retweeted earlier; the one of Sam and Casey; a few of them running toward the finish line, ugly grimaces on both of their faces; and a picture of them kissing and smiling, which must have been taken at the finish line, because Sam is covered in sweat and Steve’s shirt looks seconds from falling apart at the seams.

Most of the reactions are positive, and Steve spends some time scrolling through the happy and supportive messages, before opening the last link Nat sent. It’s Fox News, and Steve already knows it isn’t going to be good, whatever it is.

 **Fox News** @foxheadlines  
Should Captain America have the shield revoked? New images flaunting sexual depravities suggest yes!  bt.ly/a3k43u  
7:50 PM - June 12, 2015

Fuck them.

Steve puts his phone down and stands, before levering Sam up. They’ll have to deal with the wine glasses tomorrow, but that’s fine by him.

“What’s going on, Steve?” Sam asks. Steve kisses him on the temple and starts steering him to the bedroom.

“Time for bed,” he says. “We’re gonna have an early day tomorrow.”

“Why’s that, baby?”

Steve smiles and says, “I love you, Sam.”

“I love you too. Now, what’re you planning?”

Steve lowers Sam onto his side of the bed and does his best to help Sam out of his clothes from the race. The he goes and brushes his teeth—Sam’s breath is going to be terrible tomorrow—before changing. He slide into bed and turns off the light. Sam is probably asleep by now, but he says anyway, “we need to get hair dye before the parade.”

Sam is not asleep, because he groans and rolls away from Steve, but less than a minute later, he rolls back and snuggles up on _Steve’s_ pillow. Steve just smiles and closes his eyes.

*

**TMZ** @TMZ  
Captain America rocks shocking new hairstyle at DC Pride Parade! See the insider images here:  bt.ly/93jare7c  
3:47 PM - June 13, 2015

 **BuzzFeed** @BuzzFeed  
Is Captain America the new gay icon of the decade? Take our poll and tell us what you think!  bt.ly/7adhf84  
4:01 PM - June 13, 2015

 **SRogers** @brooklynrogers  
@BuzzFeed I’m bisexual, but good try. Now everyone please leave @therealfalcon and I alone so we can watch the parade in peace. Thanks!  
4:12 PM - June 13, 2015

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies for any inaccuracies, namely, in regards to Pride events (to which i have never been to, thus far), online dropboxes, and Twitter links; if anything is glaringly wrong or offensive, in regards to these things or others, please let me know!
> 
> The DC FrontRunners Pride Run is an annual 5k held in the Congressional Cemetery, the Friday of Pride Weekend in DC. This year will be their fifth annual running. A lot of my info came from their website, which you can find here. It also links to the main DC Pride website.
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Read On,  
> Skats


End file.
